Reassessment

 Well, it looks like Will is going to pass his hospice "sell by" date.  The assessment nurse is coming to the house next week or the week after.  I assume they won't kick us off the program, though he hasn't declined as much as we assumed he would (frankly, a tough winter would probably have killed him but this one wasn't tough).  By the way, if you know any social workers, the hospice is looking for one and recently raised the pay.

He spend most days sleeping.  He eats very little, mostly cookies and candy, although I do put real food in front of him at dinner and he eats his cereal and banana in the morning while he looks at the newspaper (and I do mean "looks").  That's typical, however, for the dying as sweet is the last taste to disappear (just as I imagine it's the first taste we experience).

  He's pretty incontinent now and I have a steady turnaround for his long pants (jeans, mostly, though I'm trying to get him to wear pajama pants more often).  God bless the creators of Nature' Miracle.  I found out about it maaaany years ago when I was visiting with friends in Boston and their cat pissed all over my semi-closed cloth suitcase.

He's largely nonverbal and drifty.  For example, a couple of days ago he started "fake typing" - holding his hands in front of him and moving them as though on a keyboard.  I asked, "Are you writing a novel?"  He nodded.  I asked him, what's your novel about.  I saw his eyes focus, as though he were starting to think, and then they relaxed and he looked at the other side of the room and I knew that he'd lost the thread or even the need to respond.

He was getting angry with me again yesterday when I asked if he needed food or how he was feeling.  When he does that, I just back off because his pout will be gone in a few minutes.  If I approach him like a nurse or parent, he's annoyed.  If I approach him as his friend and equal, smiling and warm, all usually goes well.

And then there are the days like Monday when he's up in one of the wingbacks all day, looking out the front window.

Fortunately, he isn't unhappy when he doesn't remember things, like the names of his siblings or what he did in school or as a child.  He just smiles and says, "I don't remember."  Of course, I rarely ask him if he remembers anything because, well, that's just not done.